Love Lost
by alynwa
Summary: Originally written for the Song Story Challenge on LJ. The prompt is "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore" by The Walker Brothers.


"Illya, may I ask you something?" Napoleon was watching his partner expertly use chopsticks to eat the last of the beef and broccoli from the bottom of a Chinese takeout carton. They were sitting in the Russian's apartment at the table that Illya used for a multitude of purposes. Right now, after having been a workspace all day, it was cleared of paperwork and turned into the supper table. Now it covered with the remains of dinner. _Albeit, very few remains, _Napoleon thought, _I ate until I couldn't take another bite and he matched me bite for bite and then polished off the remaining rice and all the fortune cookies! _As his partner kept chewing he added, "A very personal question?"

"You may ask. I may not answer."

"Fair enough. Have you ever been in love?"

The chopsticks froze momentarily before Illya dumped them into the now empty carton. His eyes clouded over and became unreadable as he stood and began clearing the table. "A very personal question, indeed. Why do you want to know?"

"Why not?" Illya's irritated glower prompted Napoleon to add quickly, "I told you about Brianna, after all."*

"That is different; I did not ask you, you volunteered that information."

Napoleon shrugged and responded, "True, but you are my partner and my best friend; I wanted you to know. Hey, if you don't want to tell me, you don't want to tell me. It's fine."

Illya dumped the garbage into a large plastic bag and walked to his front door. "I am taking this to the incinerator. I will be right back." As he walked down the hall to the incinerator closet he thought, _I know him; he will not ask again, but he will not forget about it, either. Chyort, I could hear it in his voice; he will consider it a lack of trust on my part if I do not tell him. Ridiculous Americans! Why do they insist on sharing _every_ little piece of information about their lives? _As he walked back to his apartment he thought, _In our line of work, it is dangerous to trust, but he blithely hands over his history to me without fear because he knows I will not betray him. Does he not deserve to know I feel the same way about him?_

He re – entered his apartment to see that Napoleon had moved to peruse the stacks of books that surrounded his couch and coffee table. He prepared two cups of tea and handed one to Napoleon when he went to sit on the couch. He put his cup down and reached for his book The Russian Schoolboy by Sergey Aksakov. He flipped through the pages until he came upon an old photo of a young woman. He looked up to see he was being watched with interest. He offered the picture to Napoleon. "Her name was Anya."

Napoleon sat down beside him as he studied the picture. Anya's hair and eyes were dark in the black and white shot and she was looking straight into the camera with a large smile that showed the slightest gap between her front teeth. "She's very pretty, Tovarisch."

Illya agreed, "I thought she was beautiful. We met when I was in the Navy and on leave in Vladivostok. She was a waitress in a restaurant that I happened into my second day there. The attraction was mutual and immediate. After that first meeting, we would get together whenever my submarine came into that port. I, _we_ were very happy. I thought I had met the woman I was destined to marry, in fact, I knew it." The Russian sipped his tea and a faraway expression crept onto his face. "Unfortunately," he continued, "the KGB also knew it and disapproved. They had other plans for me and my having a wife and possibly, a family, did not jibe with them. The last time I went into the restaurant she worked in, she was not there. There was, however, a KGB officer who told me that Anya was gone and no longer my concern."

"My God, what did you do?"

"Accepted what I was told. Otherwise, you may never have met me. I went back to my ship. I never heard from her again. Sometimes, I think she and her parents were relocated to another part of the Soviet Union and given a new life. But, most times, I accept that I was not so important to the Motherland that my…distraction would be allowed to live in peace. It is more likely she was sent to Siberia for having the poor judgment to fall in love with a government agent who was also in love with her." He looked at Napoleon and shrugged. "She is the main reason why I refuse to form romantic attachments. I used to think about her all the time, but with time came peace."

"Until your insensitive partner asked you to dredge up her memory, I'm sorry, Illya."

"Do not apologize, moy droog. It was a long time ago and it was my decision to tell you."

They sat quietly for a few minutes; Napoleon processing what he had been told and Illya looking back through time at memories and thinking of what might have been.

"Have you ever thought about finding out what happened to her?"

"When I first arrived at UNCLE Europe, I asked Harry Beldon if I could utilize our resources to locate someone and he said yes. I decided not to do it because I did not wish to confirm her death or find she was a married woman with children or worse, have her refuse to see me because she was afraid of the KGB returning. Some scabs are better left unpicked."

"Illya, I promise…"

"Do not."

The brunet's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How do you even know what I was about to say?"

"I know you, Napoleon. You were about to promise that you would never ask me about my past again. I do not want that promise from you. As irritating as you are, I know you mean me no harm and it is good to have someone in whom I can confide. You are a good friend."

Touched, Napoleon replied, "So are you, Partner Mine. You know you can always talk to me, about anything." He clapped Illya's shoulder and stood up. "I'm going home, unless you want me to stay."

Illya laughed, "I am not a love struck teenager mooning over lost chances! Tomorrow is Sunday and it is supposed to rain and I plan to sleep late. Go home, Napoleon, I am fine."

"Okay, okay. I'll call you tomorrow."

"I will be here. Goodnight."

*ref. "The Moon and Memories"


End file.
